


Christmas Fairs (Get me out of here, now)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Parent!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drags Hamish and Sherlock to Hamish's Christmas Fair. However, not everything goes to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Fairs (Get me out of here, now)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There is homophobic language and attitudes in this fic. I just thought you should know before you start to read (I am not homophobic, but apparently some of the characters in this fic are).

‘But I don’t want to go!’ protested Sherlock, sulking on the sofa in his blue dressing gown.  John sighed, giving Hamish an apologetic smile. Between the two of them they had spent twenty minutes trying to persuade Sherlock to get dressed, so they could go to Hamish’s school’s Christmas Fair. However, Sherlock had other ideas.

First, he had insisted that he had a case he needed to solve (a quick phone call to Lestrade had disapproved this excuse) and then he had lied that he had an experiment (the table was bare). Finally, he had sworn that Mycroft needed him (John immediately received a text denying this). Sherlock had run out of excuses and was now flat out refusing to move.

‘It’s fine- I don’t mind,’ Hamish told John. ‘Really, you can both stay here.’ He was quite capable of going by himself, he was nine after all. John dismissed this with a shake of his head.

‘No, it’s not fine.’ John insisted, walking over to his husband and tugging on his dressing gown. ‘Sherlock, get up. You are coming with us.’

‘Why can’t I stay here? Hamish just said he doesn’t care!’

‘You didn’t go last year, and-‘

‘Why does it matter?’

‘It’ll be an experience,’ insisted John, wincing slightly at those words- it was not the best reason he could’ve given.

‘Oh, _really_?’ sneered Sherlock, still staring at the back of the sofa, arms folded.

‘It’d be nice if you would come, Father.’ Hamish added, seeing his dad’s face crumple. This whole family outing thing seemed to be really important to his dad, and if it was that important to him, then it couldn’t possibly be that much of a waste of time. Besides, his friends were going to be at the fair, and it’d be a bit unfair to ditch John after he’d dragged him there in the first place- so, if John was going to insist on coming, then Sherlock really should go too, to keep John company.

‘Nice?’ Hamish’s father sighed, sitting up and turning to face him. ‘Is that really the _only_ word you could think to use?’ Hamish bit his lip- he had been doing so well!

‘Good, great, brilliant. Whatever- you can lecture me about it in the taxi on the way there?’ offered Hamish, catching Sherlock’s eye and giving him a pointed look. Could he not see that his dad wanted to go? For a genius, he was really quite stupid.

‘Do you really need me to come?’ Sherlock asked, raising one eyebrow at Hamish. John and Hamish both nodded and Sherlock groaned, accepting his fate. ‘If we must.’ He dragged himself to his feet and traipsed up the stairs to get ready. John beamed at his husband’s back as he retreated.

‘This is going to be great!’

**

They had been at the Fair for just under half an hour and Sherlock had spent the entire time scowling at small children behind stalls and muttering deductions under his breath. John, on the other hand, seemed having the time of his life. He was grinning from ear to ear and complimenting all of the handmade crafts. Hamish thought it was a bit odd- he was almost manic- had John accidently inhaled some toxic gases from Sherlock’s latest experiment? A quick glance at his dad was enough to affirm that this was not the case- his breathing was a little accelerated and his eyes were wider than usual, but he wasn’t an odd colour and didn’t appear to be ill. So, what was up with his dad?

‘Hamish! I didn’t see you there!’ Hamish’s friend Rory poked him on the back, practically yelling in his ear. Hamish grinned, high fiving his friend. Rory was talking at a hundred miles per hour about the pros and cons of shapes of snowmen, whilst almost jumping around. That was Rory for you, never stood still. _Never stood still_. John was shifting from foot to foot. Fidgeting, widened pupils, accelerated breathing, smiling manically. And his hand. John’s hand sometimes shook when he hadn’t been on a case with Sherlock, or he was nervous about something- stress stopped it, but his nerves seemed to start the tremor again. His dad was nervous. His dad was hardly ever nervous. What was so stressful about a school Christmas Fair?

‘Anyway, that’s why we- you, me and Arthur- are going to make forts instead of snowmen or whatever next time it snows.’ Rory finished, finally pausing for breath.

‘That’s brilliant. Seriously- forts are way better than snowmen.’ Hamish smiled, not having a clue what Rory had been yelling about. As great as Rory was, he tended to talk very quickly for very long periods of time-like a hyperactive toddler- but as long as you heard the first and last sentence of his babblings, you could make a deduction about what he had said. Just as Rory was about to start talking again, his mum came over to collect him.

‘Rory dear, have you got everything you needed- oh, hello Hamish.’ She smiled at him politely, her thin lips pressed together. For some reason, Mrs Evans had never seemed to like him, he didn’t know why; it was probably just one of those adult things.

‘Hello, Mrs Evans. Are you having a nice day?’ Hamish gave her his sweetest smile, struggling not to laugh at Rory pulling faces at him over his mum’s shoulder.

‘Yes, thank you. I bought some lovely lilies. Where are your parents- they can’t have let you come by yourself?’ She muttered something under her breath, which sounded like ‘irresponsible parenting’, but he couldn’t be sure.

‘No, they’re just over there.’ Hamish gestured towards the craft table where John was inspecting some wreaths, and Sherlock was refusing to comment on how lovely the weather was.

‘Ah, that’s okay then.’ The smile was back, and she turned round in order to place a protective hand on Rory’s shoulder. ‘Well, we better be off- I promised I’d cook roast dinner for my husband…’ Mrs Evans was shuffling backwards as she spoke, and let out a little squeak as she walked into someone’s chest. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’

‘That’s quite alright, ma’am.’ It was John, still grinning. ‘Hamish, d’you know where they’re selling coffee?’

‘In the Year Three classroom, I think- just down the corridor. Dad, are you okay?.’

‘I’m fine- I’m fine. Could you show me where that is- Sherlock’s driving me round the bend.’ Hamish laughed, seeing Sherlock scowling good naturedly at his husband’s back. This was the moment when Rory chose to start talking again.

‘Hi, Doctor Watson-Holmes, Mr Watson-Holmes! Have you read the newspaper article on the wall by the tree- the one which Hamish wrote?’

‘Rory! We haven’t seen you in ages! And we haven’t, actually. Hamish, you didn’t tell us your work was on the wall.’ John’s reply was genuinely enthusiastic- he liked Rory, and his questions. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Sherlock didn’t mind him either (‘he’s about as okay as hyper children can be’).

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Hamish flushed red, staring at his shoes. They weren’t any good- not good enough, anyway.

‘Of course it matters,’ John told him. ‘It’s your work and you should be proud-‘

‘Ahh, Mr Watson-Holmes, I presume?’ Mrs Evans had finally decided to join the conversation, although it seemed to be more because of her son pestering her, rather than of her own free will. ‘I’m Mrs Evans, Rory’s mother.’

‘That’s me.’ Sherlock corrected, mentally cataloguing every minute detail currently deducible.

‘You must be the Doctor, then?’ Hamish and Rory shared a small smile, before going back to pretending not to be listening to their parents’ conversation.

‘Yes, that’s right. Very nice to be meet you. Lovely weather we’re having. I was just saying to my husband that wouldn’t it be nice to have weather like this more often.’

‘Isn’t it just.’ Mrs Evans’ lip curled at the mention of Sherlock, looking down her pointed nose at John. It was the universal look of disapproval. John noticed this and his posture shifted into that of a soldier going into battle. Sherlock’s hand moved to the small of John’s back, reassuring him. Hamish looked up, catching Sherlock’s eye, which was glittering dangerously. One wrong move and Mrs Evans was a goner. Hamish clenched his fists, just one misinterpreted comment, that was all it would take to unleash Sherlock. This was not going to end well. ‘Well, it was very nice meeting you. I must be off. Rory, come here.’ Mrs Evans took Rory’s hand leaving him mouthing over his shoulder ‘goodbye’.

Hamish breathed a sigh of relief, he had known that Mrs Evans was a bit… funny about his parent’s marriage- he was just glad it was over. Hamish was just about to voice this, when Rory’s cry echoed across the hall.

‘What do you mean I’m not allowed to talk to Hamish anymore?’

Mrs Evans’ hissed response wouldn’t have been audible two seconds previously, but everyone had fallen silent at her son’s indignant yell.

‘They’re freaks. It’s not right. You are not to even look at that boy.’ Sherlock and John bristled, the tremor in John’s hand gone and Sherlock’s thoughts about the many ways to kill the woman across the room were now clear in his expression. Hamish watched, horrified. Rory was one of his best friends and one of the kindest people he knew- how could his mum be so awful?

‘But he’s my friend!’ Rory roared, biting her hand so she let him go and running back in Hamish’s direction. He reached Hamish and he could hear his friend’s mutterings of ‘IhateherIhateherIhateher’ turn to ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He almost collapsed at Hamish’s feet, apologising as his anger vanished and turned to sorrow. Hamish shook his head at his friend, offering him a shrug of his shoulders and a small smile, helping him to his feet.

‘It’s not your fault, Rory. Calm down.’ Rory was still gibbering, but now his apologies were directed at Sherlock and John.

‘I am so sorry, sirs. I didn’t know- Oh, sugar.- I’m so sorry.’

John turned to Rory and looked like he was going to respond, but then another shriek cut across the music and the talking.

‘Get away from him.’

Mrs Evans was striding across the room, her heels clattering on the wooden floor. Sherlock silently asked John for permission to do his worst and John’s slight nod granted Sherlock all the permission he needed.  Rory stopped apologising, freezing as Mrs Evans stormed towards them. As her blazing eyes became visible, he seemed to decide that safest place to hide was behind John, and dived behind the army doctor. Hamish moved to stand between his parents, John’s right hand on his shoulder, the left linked with Sherlock’s. Everyone now in their battle positions, they waited to see whether Mrs Evans would speak first, or if Sherlock would beat her too it. Sherlock’s lip curled into a smirk- he was going to enjoy this.

‘I said, get away from him.’ She walked right up to Sherlock, spitting as she spoke. She grabbed Rory’s arm and pulled him to her side, her nails digging into his arm. Rory’s eyes filled with tears, and he stopped apologising.  

‘Oh, I heard you. The problem is, you see, is that he seems to have decided that the safest place is, in fact, not with you. Your marriage is failing- your wedding ring is tarnished- and you’re taking it out on your son. The problem is your husband. You know that he has taken another man as a lover, don’t you? Which is why you’re so against seeing happily married men out in public. It reminds you that your marriage is failing and there is nothing you can do about it. You spend a lot of time on your appearance- trying to catch his attention. It’s not working- he’s going to ask you for a divorce before the end of the year. You’re worried that he’s going to take your son- why wouldn’t you be? The parenting you have just demonstrated doesn’t recommend you for the job-‘Sherlock paused, John squeezing his hand.

‘That’s enough for now, Sherlock.’

‘I’m not finished-you’ve recently been made redundant and you’re looking for work. You’re here- not for your son- but for networking. A potential employer said he’d meet you here, but he hasn’t turned up.’

‘Sherlock.’ John’s voice was firm, but sure. Sherlock looked at his husband, and John gave him a small smile. ‘That’s enough for now, love.’

Mrs Evans was staring at them in astonishment, her grip on Rory’s arm slackening. She opened her mouth as if to make a further comment, but seemed to decide against it. With one final glare, she turned on her heel and fled from the room, Rory following close behind, waving over one shoulder at Hamish.

**

‘Well, you were right about one thing.’ Sherlock smirked, relaxed now the threat was neutralised. They were sipping tea in the Year Three classroom, Hamish munching on a biscuit. It was cosy in the classroom, decked with fairy lights which reminded him of home.

‘What’s that?’ John’s hand was steady now as he poured more tea from the teapot into a cup.

‘That was definitely an experience.’

John reached over and pressed a kiss on Sherlock’s lips, a small smile playing across his features.

‘I think you’re right.’


End file.
